All y’all with your Facebook posts of Mother’s -Day breakfasts over French pastries and day-long spa retreats and uninterrupted hours with your delicious reading… phthbthphth. *I’m* the super martyr mom. I went camping. With kids. And a sinus infection. Pay attention to me!
We spent a lovely weekend camping at Wallace Falls. The fact that the camping weekend coincided with Mother’s Day weekend was unintended and should not be construed as my chosen Mother’s Day activity. Nor, indeed, should it prevent me from shutting myself in my room the following Sunday and ignoring the demands of any critter under five feet tall—whether feline or toddler. I am owed. In payment, I accept free time, paid in four-hour denominations.
I haven’t much to say about our camping trip other than the weather was August-like and the Puppy was bored. He announced his boredom repeatedly. I’m not surprised at a tweenager’s disdain of camping with family, but a five-year-old’s? Isn’t he supposed to pass the time rolling in ketchup and eating dirt? The Kitten found plenty to do, and all her activities centered on tormenting the Puppy. Camping with whiners! And me too sick to drink after we sequestered the kids for the night.
In discussing the weekend with my Papa afterwards, I came to realize why this camping trip failed to amuse Puppy as have previous trips: It lacked critters. Though we hiked through old-growth forest and explored the foliage around our campsite, we never happened upon any bugs or worms… small woodland creatures… nothing for Puppy to torture with his curiosity. This might seem a positive scenario for many campers, but it’s lidocaine to a preschooler’s spirit. Next time, I’ll pack crickets.
I’m sorry, Husband, to keep harping on the negatives of the trip (it was actually a wonderful excursion! But for the ways it wasn’t), I also got crapola in the way of photos. And, for me, the anticipation of photographic coups is the only reason to camp. A .0023% return on my photographic effort makes me maudlin. Pair that with a sinus infection, and I’m downright pissy.
I did, however, get a fairly awesome photo of the Puppy peeing in the woods. I can’t post it here, lest my work place block my blog for pornography again, so you’ll just have to trust me. I even got the stream – à la Calvin & Hobbes. That capture validates maybe… 22% of the trip.
I’m going to close here, but before I do, I’d like to offer up a prayer: Let my marriage never be one that, when a friend sends me a holiday card and the card is returned-to-sender because the address is no longer mine, the friend sits on the holiday card for five months, afraid to ask me for my new address because she assumes the address change is due to divorce. Amen.